


A Song of Six Stags

by hoppnhorn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Children of Characters, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 02:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12181485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: When Lyanna Baratheon, eldest child of Lord Gendry Baratheon and heir to Storm's End, celebrates her eighteenth nameday, events are set into motion that will shape her future.





	1. Chapter 1

On her eighteenth nameday, Lyanna woke up after dreaming of snow. She had only seen snow a couple of times in her life and the concept of the soft, cold flakes were still so foreign in her mind. But the dream had been vivid, as if she'd stepped into a memory. Her hands had reached up for the small, white flecks only to watch them melt in her palms.

When Septa Mansy knocked on her door, Lyanna had felt the oddest sense of disappointment, leaving the icy landscape behind. Her room was warm, the sun streaming in through a window.

"My lady." Septa stepped briskly into the room, making quick work of Lyanna's discarded gown from the previous day. "Your father expected you for breakfast almost an hour ago." She was irritated, as usual. Lyanna groaned and rolled over in bed, hoping perhaps she was still dreaming.

"You heard me, young lady." Septa swatted her rear through the blankets and Lyanna grunted louder. "Your Lord father—"

"Hates being called my Lord father." Lyanna growled. "And he wouldn't ORDER my presence on my nameday."

"Nameday or not, you are expected to rise like the rest of Storm's End, before midday." Septa rummaged through her clothes, picking something suitable for her to wear. She'd pick something stiff and uncomfortable, as usual. Lyanna stretched, messing her hair in a pillow.

"But I was having a wonderful dream…" She grumbled, closing her eyes to recall the image of white blanketing the landscape as far as the eye could see. "…I was dreaming of Winterfell, I think."

"You haven't seen Winterfell since you were a child." Septa murmured. With another soft swat, she drew Lyanna from the depths of her mattress. "Thank goodness your Lord father prefers the south. The north is frigid cold."

"He prefers the south, but my mother loved the north." Lyanna corrected, standing obediently while she was handled, her small clothes righted before a dress was wrapped around her body. The linen was rough and hung heavy on her limbs.

"Yes, she did." Septa said softly, tying the dress tight. "Visits to Winterfell were her favorite time of year." Lyanna sighed and ran her hands down the front of the pale blue fabric at her waist. When the gown was fastened, Septa touched Lyanna's arms gently, meeting her eyes for the first time that morning. "You grow more like her with each passing day."

"I look like my father." The girl replied, giving a nearby mirror a reluctant glance.

"True enough. But your mind is entirely your mothers." A brush was pulled through her hair as Lyanna watched, summoning an image of her mother from memory.

It had been almost ten years since her mother's death. Each year chipped away a little more detail from what her mind would recall. All that remained was a foggy recollection of a heart-shaped face and dark, grey eyes. The rest was what her father said she'd inherited from her mother: Long, dark hair, round cheeks and smooth, pale skin. But her bright blue eyes and sharp jaw were all Baratheon, just like her father.

"There, now. You may pass as a Lady of the Stormlands yet." Septa hurried her to the door. "Quickly, my dear, we mustn't keep your father waiting."

"I'm sure he'll manage."

* * *

 

Lord Gendry of House Baratheon, first of his name and Lord of Storm's End, couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a meal without being surrounded by women. Not women, girls.

So. Many. Girls.

"FATHER." Elya squawked from one end of the table, her mouth turned down in a pronounced pout. "MARILLA ATE THE REST THE BACON."

"Elya, please." Gendry sighed, rubbing a sore spot between his eyes. He found himself wondering why they didn't serve ale at breakfast. Looking around the table, he remembered. He was the only one old enough to drink ale, certainly at breakfast. "Marilla, save some for the rest of us."

His second eldest grinned from her seat, her grey eyes dancing with mischief as she munched triumphantly.

"It's not my fault she wasn't dressed before me." Her father held in a grunt. "Slow." Marilla added with a jut of her chin.

"Enough." Gendry bellowed, half-heartedly. The girls all quieted for a moment, tearing at bread and chewing. "Speaking of slow, where is Lyanna?"

"Here, father."

She swept in beside him in a flurry of blue gown and black hair, taking her seat with a bounce. Leaning in, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and swiped a piece of bacon from his plate. He glared, but Lyanna only chuckled and ate happily.

"I expect better from a woman of eighteen." He chided. Lyanna stared down at her plate, a tiny grin spreading across her lips. When he couldn't hold it in any longer, a smile grew across his face. "Happy nameday."

"Thank you, father." She whispered, a blush creeping to her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled as she beamed, the blue so vibrant in contrast to the dark of her hair. Lyanna had always been a beauty, since the day she’d opened her eyes. It felt like yesterday he had taken her into his arms, cradling her little body like she was made of glass. Arya had cried, watching him hold their first-born. Then she'd criticized his hold, claiming he was handling her like a sack of flour.

Eighteen years he'd watched that sack of flour grow. It almost didn't seem possible that so much time had passed. Then again, it felt like Arya had been gone for a hundred years, each year weighing like a decade.

He looked down the length of the table and six beautiful girls looked back at him. Each one of them had his dark, straight hair, solid brow and fierce cheekbones; but, to him, they all looked like their mother. Six little pieces of her to hold his heart together.

Marilla had been born less than a year after Lyanna, to everyone's amusement. Gendry had been so proud, parading around two beautiful children in so many years. Arya, on the other hand, had been mortified when she'd found herself pregnant, yet again, a few months later.

The seed was strong indeed.

Catelyn was born before Marilla could walk, and suddenly he was father to three little girls. Arya had joked that he wasn't to touch her for five years.

She was pregnant again before the year was over.

Gendry looked at his girls now, grinning as they started to chatter amongst themselves, arguing and laughing.

Elya was born next, complete with a full head of black hair and a set of lungs to clear a room. A year later, she was followed by Shireen and Sansa, a miraculous set of twins.

Watching them all now, Gendry recalled Arya's dismay.

" _You put another in me, my lord, and it'll turn to three."_

He smiled as he remembered her voice, mockingly stern, in his head. She'd been secretly frustrated, his lady, yet Arya had never been able to hide anything from him. Despite her pride in filling their halls with family, she'd craved a boy. One son to name for her father. One boy to carry the name Baratheon.

When the fever swept through Storm's End, it took all of their chances away. His warrior of a wife, a woman who had survived the Great War and five births, was taken by sickness. The irony had infuriated him, filling him with a burning rage and a despair so deep, he didn’t think he’d ever surface. The sickness took over a dozen souls in a matter of days and, for a time, Gendry had wished to be one of them.

His girls were what saved him. It was their faces, their cries, and their joy that had slowly healed him. Through each of them, he lived again.

"Father." Shireen called from down the table, her little hands playing at the hem of her skirt. "Are we having a feast for Lyanna?"

"OH, FATHER, PLEASE!" Catelyn chimed in. "We haven't had a nameday feast in YEARS." Gendry chuckled.

"If I threw a feast for every nameday at this table, we would never have wine in the cellar."

"But there would be dancing!" Catelyn cooed, batting long lashes. The middle of his children at fifteen, Catelyn was vibrant and loving. She was known for singing songs as she wandered the castle, smiling to anyone and everyone she met. "I love a dance!"

"We know  **you**  do." Lyanna muttered, hiding an eye roll behind her cup. Gendry gave his eldest a knowing glance. Unlike Catelyn, Lyanna was more likely to enjoy a hunt than a dance. She was most like her mother in that respect, wild and unconventional.

"It is your sister's nameday, Catelyn." He ran a finger along the rim of his cup, debating his next words for a moment. "The celebration is hers to decide."

Lyanna's eyes flared with surprise and he had to hold in a laugh.

"Truly?" She breathed, her hands frozen on the table.

"If it is a reasonable—"

"A tournament!" Lyanna declared before he could finish, her face pink with excitement.

As the table erupted, Lord Baratheon wished he'd just thrown a damn feast.


	2. Chapter 2

Marilla had picked a long dress to wear for the arrival of their guests. After waiting weeks, a raven had arrived ahead of the Lannisters that morning and she’d thought of nothing since. Her gown was yellow, embroidered with beautiful gold detail that shimmered in the light. Against her dark hair, it shone like the sun, or so her father had said.

As she shot through the gardens, Marilla clung to the bottom of her skirts in an attempt to keep from falling over herself.

“Seven hells.” She mumbled, jostling the yards of fabric. “LYANNA!” Gardeners watched as she wove through beautiful rows of hedges, grinning to each other as she went. No one would dare reveal her sister’s hiding place aloud, but their pointed glances led her deeper into the garden. Into the roses.

Her mother’s memorial.

After the death of her mother, Marilla’s father had taken her remains to Winterfell himself. When he had returned, a thousand white rose bushes were planted in memory of their northern mother. The sight of so much white had brought their father to his knees when the flowers had bloomed. Marilla remembered wrapping her arms about his neck, holding the strongest man she’d ever known upright as he wept. Ever since, the roses had been a sacred place.

“You could wake the whole of Storm’s End with those lungs.”

Marilla spun around, clutching her throat as her sister snorted from up a tree. Hanging above, Lyanna was reclined on a branch, staring out over the roses.

“We are to receive the Lannisters.” Marilla said in a huff, straightening her skirts. Glaring up at her older sister, she sighed. “And you’re wearing trousers!”

“Of course I’m wearing trousers.” Lyanna muttered. “You can’t climb trees in a dress.”

“We’re receiving guests!” Marilla cleared her throat, her voice verging on shrill. When she’d gathered her composure, she aimed a cool look at Lyanna’s bored face. “Guests for your nameday tournament, you might remember.”

“I didn’t invite the bloody Lannisters.” An acorn missed Marilla’s head by an inch and she let out a small gasp.

“Lord Jaime Lannister is a war hero—“

“He’s a Lannister.” Lyanna groaned. “It’s difficult to be fond of people who are already so very fond of themselves.”

“They are good friends of our uncle, the King, and our father.” Marilla picked up the acorn to throw it at her sister. It bounced harmlessly off a branch.

“And we’re all so eager to forget when they weren’t.” Lyanna shot back, nailing Marilla in the shoulder with another acorn.

“Oh Lyanna, stop! Lady Brienne was a good friend to mother. To us all.” Marilla stomped a foot as Lyanna snorted, clearly amused. “It is respectful to greet her.” The smirk on Lyanna’s features faded.

“Lady Brienne is coming?” She slipped from the tree in a graceful jump. Marilla sighed, knowing she would have wound up in a rose bush had she attempted the same feat. “She hasn’t visited since—“

“Since after mother. Yes.” The two of them fidgeted, recalling the month that followed their mother’s death. Many had come to pay their respects, including the King and Queen. But Lady Brienne had stayed the longest, helping their father as he tried to surface from his grief. She’d been pregnant with her third son at the time, and Marilla remembered how she’d been in awe of such a tall woman with a round belly.

“She’s accompanied two of her sons, according to the raven sent to father.” Marilla led them away, walking quickly towards the castle. “Brandon and Renly.”

“Is Renly even old enough to joust?” Lyanna grumbled, kicking dirt.

“He’s older than you, idiot. Besides, Lady Joanna arrives with them as well.” Marilla grinned. “I’ve heard she’s as tall as her mother.”

“Is that a compliment, or a curse?”

“I seem to remember you wanting to be as tall as Lady Brienne, Lyanna.”

“When I was ten.” Her sister laughed. “That was before I realized being small was helpful, like when hiding from annoying younger sisters.”

Marilla suddenly pushed Lyanna into a bush and tore off for the keep, fighting to keep her skirts in hand. Giggling wildly, she tried so hard to get away. But it wasn’t long before she could hear Lyanna’s pounding footsteps. With a laugh, Marilla dodged to evade her sister’s tackle.

And failed.

They wound up falling onto a bed of long grass. Looking over, Marilla laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe, eyeing the twigs and leaves in Lyanna’s hair. Her laughter died, however, when she saw the long, green stains across the front of her golden dress.

“SEVEN HELLS LYANNA!” She cried, shooting after her sister as Lyanna scrambled to her feet. “THIS IS MY FAVORITE DRESS!”

“Shouldn’t have pushed me first, baby sister!”

They raced back to the castle, Lyanna easily winning in her trousers. When they arrived, they were both panting and sweating like beasts.

“You’ve gotten slow, Mari.” Lyanna said with a grin. “Sitting around doing needle work with Septa is making you fat.”

“Oh please.” Marilla snorted, shoving her sister with both hands. “You’re just jealous of my woman’s figure.” She tugged at the front of her dress, fidgeting the neckline to accent the tops of her breasts. The gown was tasteful, but had a way of showing off that she was no longer a child.

“I’m happy to not be bothered with all that.” Lyanna sighed. “If I had a choice, I’d strap them down and never see them again.”

“You’re crazy.” Marilla laughed. “You just want to run wild in a loose tunic whenever you please.”

Lyanna shrugged with one shoulder.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Bells sounded from the castle and Marilla felt the blood drain from her face.

“SEVEN HELLS!” She hauled her skirts from the ground to race towards the castle, Lyanna laughing from behind her.

* * *

 

Gendry stood at the front of his great home and fidgeted with his hands. He’d never been good at this part: the lording part. He was just a man. The Smith Lord, some called him. It was an apt description and he’d liked the title more than any of the others given him over the years. The Smith Lord spoke to his humble origins.

Looking out at the dozens who made up his households staff, he felt anything but humble. There were servants, smiths, cooks, stable hands, butchers and so many more. And they relied on him for protection and prosperity. Then there was his house. Lined at the top step, his daughters waited, four handmaidens among them, along with Septa Mansy and Maester Quentyn.

As they all awaited the arrival of their guests, Gendry realized that his household was two short.

“Septa, it seems we’re missing Lyanna and Marilla.” He said gently, watching as the woman flushed a deep shade of scarlet. Though he’d never seen beneath her head wrapping, he would guess raising his six girls had put many grey hairs on her head.

“They’ll accompany us at any moment, my Lord. My apologies.”

Gendry laughed softly.

“You can’t tame wolves.” He said with a grin, catching the eye of one of his twins, Sansa. She gave him a giddy smile.

“Are they not stags, my Lord?” Septa said with a small smile of her own, shaking her head as Sansa bounced on her heels. All of the girls were antsy with anticipation. There hadn’t been an occasion like this since the King visited five years past. The twins had been so small, Gendry was sure they wouldn’t remember how to behave in front of guests.

“They may look like stags…” He said softly, thinking of the grace of his house’s vigil. He couldn’t help but recall the conversation he’d had with Arya, the night they’d married.

_“I’m a stag now, my Lord.”_

His chest warmed, aching for her still. His reply slipped from his lips, like it had so many years ago.

“But they’ll always be wolves.”

As he spoke, a commotion drew the attention of the crowd, the procession arriving. Lady Brienne rode in front of a company of guards, as strong and noble as the day Gendry had first laid eyes on her at Winterfell. Her yellow hair had softened to a white in her age, but she still stood tall on her horse. Dressed in shining gold armor, she quite nearly drew all the attention away from her sons.

Almost.

Brandon Lannister followed his mother on a black mare, his golden hair cut tight to his temples and neck, but long at his crown. His bangs were shaggy but straight, threatening to fall into his shrewd eyes. At the age of two and twenty, Brandon was the eldest of Jaime Lannister’s sons, looking every bit like his father.

Renly Lannister took after his mother. With white-blonde hair, the second eldest rode beside his brother, smiling cheerfully as they moved closer. Gendry remembered Renly as a boy, with fat cheeks and deep, blue eyes. That boy had grown into a strong man with thick muscles chording at his neck. He looked taller than his brother, despite being three years his junior.

A carriage took up the rear of their party, followed by several guards. When they all came to a stop, Brienne was off her horse with a swift dismount and Gendry descended the steps.

“Lady Brienne.” He bowed and they grasped each other’s forearms, warm smiles passing between them.

“Lord Gendry.” Her voice was still so strong, but held a softness that he’d learned was result of joy. When Brienne was happy, her voice was almost a song. “It’s been too long, my friend.”

“It has.” He agreed. “The Stormlands agree with you.”

Brienne laughed and released him. “The ride is a beautiful one.”

Brandon approached, dipping his head low. “My Lord.”

Gendry marveled at the similarities between son and father. He’d only seen Jaime Lannister from afar until he’d defected to the North. The man before him was so much younger; it felt as though Gendry had stepped back through time, before Jaime Lannister had become known as the Kingslayer.

“I could have sworn I was seeing your father.” Gendry declared. Brienne laughed and Brandon managed a small smile, but Gendry didn’t miss the flicker of emotion on the man’s face.

“He wishes he could have come, my Lord.” Brandon said evenly. “He sends his regrets.”

Gendry waved the apology away.

“The Lord of Casterly Rock has important business, I’m sure.” Turning to Renly, Gendry found himself looking up.

“My Lord.” Renly said with a bow.

Gendry laughed. The little boy he remembered had the voice of a thunderclap.

“Are you sure this is Renly?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at Brienne. She blushed and laughed softly.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“A while?” Gendry looked back at the broad-shouldered man before him. Renly was at least half a foot taller than him, like his mother. “I could see over this boy’s head last time we met.”

Renly grinned wide.

“Now I can see over yours, my Lord.”

“You could see Kings Landing from where you stand.” Gendry teased, clapping the boy soundly on the arm. “How old are you now?”

“Nineteen, my Lord.” He said proudly, twin dimples forming in his cheeks. Gendry shook his head.

“Has it really been so long?”

“It has.” Brienne said with a sigh. “Just wait until you see—“

“Joanna!” Gendry whirled around to see Catelyn run from her place on the steps to the carriage, just as a tall girl stepped from inside. The two embraced in a hard hug and Brienne laughed.

“She spoke of nothing but Catelyn the whole way here.”

“Catelyn was hoping she’d join you. She’s missed her since last year.” Gendry added, watching as the two girls giggled and chatted, picking up where they’d left off. “Catelyn was asking to visit Casterly Rock every month since.”

“I’m happy Joanna had her in Kings Landing.” Brienne said, handing her reins over. The servants moved to help unload the trunks from the carriage while stable hands saw to the horses, the gathering dissolving around them. Gendry motioned for his daughters to join them, noticing that Lyanna had appeared.

She was flushed, her hair shoved unceremoniously into a knot on her head. The dress she wore looked clean enough, but it didn’t take much for him to see the layer of grime on his daughter’s face. And the small blade of grass still stuck in her hair.

“Lyanna.” He called to her, holding in a laugh as she gracefully descended the steps. “Good of you to join us.”

“I apologize, Lady Brienne.” She curtsied swiftly, a tiny grin on her lips. “I was walking in the gardens and lost track of the hour.”

“Walking?” Gendry said quietly, eyeing the muddy boots tucked beneath her skirts. He plucked the grass from her hair and his oldest wrinkled her nose. “What have you done with Marilla?”

“She’s—“

“Terribly late. My apologies, Lady Brienne.” Marilla interrupted from the top step, wrapping her arms around Elya when she joined them. The younger girl giggled and held her forearms.

“Did Lyanna push you into the pond again?” Elya asked.

“Elya!” Gendry scolded softly. Brienne let out a hearty laugh, which was soon joined by several others. Renly stepped forward.

“I remember falling victim to a similar trick myself.” He said with a wink, kneeling down to look Elya in the eye. “But if memory serves…” His eyes slid up to find Marilla’s, a grin overtaking his face. “…it was Marilla who tripped me in a large mud puddle.”

Marilla’s face colored and Gendry watched Renly smile, his eyes dancing. Gendry looked at Brienne, the two of them exchanging small, knowing looks. It hadn’t escaped him when Marilla had asked specifically if Renly would attend the tournament.

“She tripped you?” Elya asked, eyes wide as she looked Renly up and down. He chuckled warmly and the girl couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“She was taller than me at the time.” He said gently. Standing to his full height once more, he looked to Marilla directly. “I think I may be safe now.”

* * *

 

Ever since arriving at Storm’s End, Brandon had wished for a moment of silence. The castle, however, offered nothing of the sort. Once inside, they’d barely been installed in their quarters when the great hall had started to fill with the Lords and Ladies of the Stormlands. Renly had been more than happy to join them, mingling and socializing like the kind boy he was.

Brandon was content to stay in his seat, nursing a cup of wine. At the end of the table, his mother and Lord Baratheon spoke only to each other, no doubt reminiscing and catching up. On his right, Joanna giggled and chattered away with Catelyn Baratheon, the two joined at the hip since their arrival.

When the cup barer came around, he was happy to take a refill.

“How was your journey, my Lord?” Brandon was startled to find the bright eyes of Lyanna Baratheon on him, her seat across the table allowing her easy access for conversation.

“Well enough, thank you.” He replied quickly, wishing like hell he could retreat to his bed. Hours of riding had left him sore and tired, not in the mood for loud halls and endless talking. Lyanna was staring at him and he realized she’d spoken.

“I’m sorry?”

“Have you ever visited the Stormlands?” She repeated her question and he shook his head.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

They fell into silence again and Brandon took to studying her over his cup. Lyanna Baratheon was a strange creature, nothing like the women he’d known in Casterly Rock. Despite her disheveled appearance upon their arrival, she moved gracefully. And after what, he figured, was a good bath, she could even be described as handsome. Her dark hair and dark brows played well against her pale complexion, but he would forget her in a crowd.

Her eyes, however, were hard to forget. They were sharp and keen, almost piercing at times. Brandon looked away to avoid yet another question, studying the rest of the Baratheons.

Of all the dark-haired girls, Marilla was the most beautiful. Aside from Lyanna, she was the only girl of significant maturity, her elegant figure drawing more than one man’s eye. But her smile was, by far, her best feature, her eyes wrinkling around the corners with every laugh. She had a ready blush and a full set of lips, which made her face classically pretty. Brandon noticed, with a small smirk, that Renly seemed to enjoy her as well. The two had traded more than one locked gaze since their arrival and Brandon wondered if perhaps, one day, he’d call Marilla Baratheon his sister.

“Do you plan to joust, my Lord?” Lyanna was speaking again and he pulled his attention back across the table.

“No.” He said plainly, taking a long drink. “I prefer the sword.”

“There isn’t to be a sword contest, Bran.” Joanna told him, giving him the hint of a glare. He softened his face and set his cup on the table.

“I came to support Renly.” He said gently, warming only to his sister’s happy smile. “And to escort you, dearest sister.”

“So you came all this way to watch?” Lyanna asked. Brandon stared at her hard, choosing his words wisely.

“Unless there is a sword contest, yes.”

“Which means a better chance for me.” Renly spoke up on his left, finding his seat for the first time in an hour. Taking a drink of his wine, he clapped Brandon on the shoulder. “Though I think I’m better at a joust than you, Bran.”

“I’ve beaten you plenty, little brother.” He pointed out, but Renly only shook his big head.

“You haven’t sat against me since I was fourteen. I’ve won several tournaments since.”

“If you win a tournament, it’s because none of the mighty Lords could push your fat ass from your saddle.”

Renly’s brow fell flat and Brandon took a long drink, a pleased smirk on his face.

“At least he competes.” Lyanna muttered from across the table. Brandon stared at her while Renly gave a small chuckle, regaining some of his smile. Marilla gave her sister a quick nudge with her elbow but Lyanna ignored it and suddenly stood, her eyes still locked on Brandon.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

And then she was gone. She walked through the hall, smiling curtly to various people as she passed before she vanished from sight.

“Please forgive her, my Lord.” Marilla Baratheon was blushing wildly, the pink of her cheeks spreading to her neck. “Lyanna envies the ability to simply enter a tournament. She forgets herself.”

Brandon nodded his head, accepting the apology as conversation resumed around them. Watching Marilla from the across the table, he imagined her as his wife. Kind and beautiful, she was a good choice for any man. As Brandon looked on, Renly said something and Marilla colored, looking away with timid smiles. The more he watched, the less Brandon could imagine a marriage to such a sweet thing. She was a better match for his brother, two happy people blissfully living happy lives.

Taking a drink of his wine, Brandon ignored the chaos of the hall and dreamt of silence.


	3. Chapter 3

A day before the tournament was set to begin, Renly Lannister stood in the keep of Storm’s End and watched as the finest smith in Westeros forged a black blade. The mix of dragonglass and steel was legendary, first crafted during the Great War by the Smith Lord himself. Renly had been baffled, finding Lord Gendry standing at the forge that morning, but he was humbled to watch the man work.

“Only seven of those exist in Westeros.” Renly said in awe, his eyes locked on the glittering black metal.

“And making those took weeks.” Lord Gendry replied, slipping the hot steel into a bucket of hissing water. “Dragonglass is brittle. Laying it into steel was nearly impossible.”

“But you did it.” Renly wanted to ask him how; he wanted to ask a hundred questions. Lord Gendry grinned at him, as if he could sense his hesitation.

“I didn’t do it alone. It took days, with master smiths, perfect steel, maesters and…” He held the sword up, the water dripping down the length of the blade. “…a little bit of magic.”

“Dragonfire.” Renly whispered.

Lord Gendry let out a little laugh.

“That’s one of the stories.” He held the sword out and Renly’s eyes went wide. “Go on.”

Holding the warm, black blade made Renly’s palms sweat. Neither of his parents had been given one of the swords during the war as both carried Valyrian steel. He’d marveled at Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail since he was a child, but they were dull in comparison to the sword now in his hands.

“My mother doesn’t believe in magic. But my father, he said that the Queen and her dragons changed everything. Made him believe in all the stories.”

“Dragons and the Night King.” Lord Gendry added, shaking his head while he wiped his hands on a discarded towel. Despite his highborn status, the Lord of Storm’s End was dressed in a simple apron, a stag branded into the leather on his chest. His hair was longer than Renly had realized, now that it was loose about his forehead and temples. The polished Lord that had greeted him days ago wasn’t the man he saw now. This man was a smith with rough hands and a kind smile.

“Were you afraid?” Renly asked, handing the weapon back to Lord Gendry. The man nodded, rubbing the metal down with a cloth.

“Of the Night King? Yeah. We all were.”

“My father doesn’t speak of it much. My mother less so.” Renly said, shrugging a shoulder. “My parents survived one of the greatest wars in history and they pretend as if it never happened.”

“I haven’t told my girls much about it either.” Lord Gendry admitted. “It isn’t a story to share with family.” Running a hand through his black and silver-streaked hair, the Lord sighed. “We all looked into the face of death in that battle. I want to remember what came afterwards and let the memory of that day fade.”

“What came after?”

“Babies.” Lord Gendry grinned. “Lots and lots of babies.”

Renly colored, realizing his brother was born less than a year after the fall of the Night King. He made a face and Lord Gendry clapped him on the shoulder.

“I hope you never have to face a war. But if you do…” He leaned in close. “…there’s nothing like riding through the gates and seeing the face of the woman you love.” Renly managed a small chuckle, envisioning a certain beauty with dark hair, smiling up at him on his horse.

“But didn’t Lady Arya fought beside you, my Lord?”

Lord Gendry grunted and rubbed a hand over his face. “Aye, she did. But we were separated during the fighting.” His brow furrowed in recollection. “Arya was so quick, I turned my back for a moment and she was gone. I nearly lost my mind looking for her.” He took a deep breath and Renly swore it was ragged with fear, like he was standing in the field once again. “When the dead finally fell, I’d screamed myself hoarse. I tore through that graveyard, praying I wouldn’t find her in the snow. And when I found her…”

He gulped back the rest of the sentence, like a cry of relief had risen in his throat. With a smile, he caught Renly’s eye, shaking away the shadow of the past.

“Like I said…I hope you never see war.”

“They called her the Dark Wolf after that.” Renly was startled to find Lady Lyanna standing behind him, her voice cheerful against her father’s solemn tone. “The bannerman of House Stark claimed mother turned into a great wolf, shredding the dead with her teeth. They said she cut down thousands.”

“There were a lot of creative titles, and stories, after that battle.” Lord Gendry scoffed. “And I would have noticed if your mother had sprouted furs and a tail.”

Renly laughed and Lyanna joined them inside the forge, walking into her father’s embrace.

“But she fought like nothing I’d ever seen, your mother.” Lord Gendry added. “Didn’t make me happy to see her out on a battlefield instead of inside the keep, but I knew there was no stopping her.”

“I heard nothing could stop you either, my Lord. They named you the Iron Hammer after that day.” Renly pointed out. Lyanna beamed as her father nodded.

“That was the only title I had for some time.” Lord Gendry replied. “I wasn’t a Lord until some time later, before the King and Queen marched south.”

“She named you Lord of the Stormlands.” Lyanna said triumphantly. “And you asked mother to marry you.”

Gendry laughed and shook his head.

“And do you know what she said?”

Lyanna giggled and Renly lifted a single brow. When they’d both waited long enough, the Smith Lord let out a laugh.

“No.”

* * *

 

Everyone with a last name and a horse had entered the tournament for Lyanna Baratheon’s nameday. And that included Brandon Lannister.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to approach the Master of Arms and add his name to the list of competitors. He hadn’t set out to compete against the Lords of the Stormlands, or his brother, when he left the Westerlands. But when the tournament events began, he found himself a part of the commotion.

In the middle of a field of tents, he sat on a stool and despised himself for opening his mouth. He could be sitting in the shade of the tournament stands, with his mother and sister. Instead, he was sweating in heavy armor under a bright, summer sun while his squire, a boy of sixteen, hustled around his horse. Brandon watched Lancel Payne with a patient eye, wondering if the boy had ever squired for a joust. For that matter, he wondered if he’d ever stepped foot out of Casterly Rock’s keep.

“I should have known.” Brandon turned as Renly rushed into view, wearing golden armor that matched his own. With a big, bold lion on the chest, he looked like something out of a story. A towering, noble knight with wide shoulders and a square jaw. Brandon snorted as his brother stomped around like a child to face him. “You said you didn’t like to joust, yet here you are, jousting.”

“I was bored of waiting around and Lancel needed something to do.” Brandon answered, grinning at the irritated expression on Renly’s face. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun after all. Not worried are you, little brother?”

“No.” Renly said with a smirk. “I’m going to beat you. If you even make it to the final round.”

Brandon let out a hearty laugh, standing to grip Renly by the shoulders.

“We’ll see who makes the final round, Ren.” He stepped away, patting his horse’s thick neck with a gentle hand. She was his favorite of all the horses he’d ever ridden and she was the strongest beast he’d ever seen. Despite their differences in size, Brandon was confident his speed could match Renly’s brute force.

“Just admit it, Bran.” Renly leaned into him. “You didn’t want to compete until Lady Lyanna scoffed at you for standing aside.”

Brandon felt a heat grow on the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought about it much since their first night at Storm’s End, but recalling his conversation with Lyanna Baratheon made him grind his teeth with irritation.

“I didn’t want to compete until you boasted high and low of your skill in a joust, Ren.” He hissed. “If there is anyone to blame for my entry, it’s you.”

Renly shook his head slowly, teasing giving way to a mocking smile.

“Fine. Good luck to you then.” He said with a half-hearted bow. “Be sure not to embarrass mother too much when my ‘fat ass’ knocks you on yours.” With that, he was gone, nodding politely to Lancel as he strode away.

Brandon shook his head as he watched his brother leave.

“Hear that, girl?” He murmured to the horse, stroking her tenderly. She turned into his chest at the sound of his voice. Using his fingertips, he scratched her nose and she gave him a pleased, little snort. “Renly thinks he can beat us.” The mare lifted her head, butting his face with her nose in a playful sort of jab and he laughed. “You’re right, he’s an idiot.”

“He isn’t the one talking to a horse.”

Brandon and the mare both jumped at the new voice, the horse giving a frightened whinny. Lyanna Baratheon stepped into the animal’s view and lifted her hands in a sign of peace, cooing softly.

“I’m sorry.” She approached slowly, reaching up to pet the horse. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Brandon simply watched as she comforted the mare with kind whispers. Lyanna was wearing a grey dress, understated compared to the colored gowns he’d grown accustomed to seeing her wear around the castle. The design was simple, embroidered with a subtle silver pattern that shone in the light. The lines connected, similar to a tree and its branches, weaving from her waist to the ground.

What interested him most, however, was her hair. She’d let it down for the tournament; the dark length flowed down her back until it almost met her backside. He hadn’t seen it in anything but careless knots in the near week he’d been a guest at Storm’s End. The shocking appeal of Lyanna Baratheon’s appearance made him stare for a moment too long.

Her eyes locked onto his gaze, stirring him to action.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said bluntly, looking around at the other competitors. So far, her appearance hadn’t drawn any attention. Everyone moved with purpose, unaware of anything else.

“Why is that?” She said with a laugh, stroking his mare’s nose with her fingers.

“Because this isn’t a place for the Lady of Storm’s End.”

Just as he spoke, a knight stumbled from his tent and untied his trousers, pissing not ten feet from where Lyanna stood. She didn’t bat an eye.

“If you think I’m going to blush, you’re mistaken. I’ve visited King’s Landing. It takes a lot more than piss to make me tremble, my Lord.”

“Ah, so you think you know the world, after staying in the Red Keep.” Brandon retorted. Lyanna bristled and he silently relished the blush that crept up her neck.

“My father was raised in Flea Bottom. I’ve walked the streets he once called home.”

Brandon nodded to his squire, who had appeared with a cup of ale. The boy handed the cup over and Brandon took a pull. Sweat had started to bead at his neck and drip down his spine; the cool drink felt like heaven in this throat. Lyanna watched him with a pointed gaze, following his every move.

He held the cup out to her when he’d finished, leaving a little under half.

“Aye, you walked the streets of Flea Bottom…with how many guards?” Brandon had only visited Flea Bottom once, when he was still a teenager and the grime of poverty had been alien and frightening. Even as a skilled swordsman, he’d been on edge while walking those streets.

Lyanna strode towards him slowly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly with determination. Taking the cup from his hand, she drained it in a single gulp. He knew she would drink it to prove herself. He hadn’t expected her to drink it so quickly.

Lyanna swallowed and held the cup out to Lancel, who looked as confused as Brandon was irritated.

“I’m not like most ladies, my Lord.” She said with a jut of her chin. “Though you’re easy enough to measure. One blow to your ego and you would do anything to prove yourself.”

He tried not to acknowledge the jab but Lyanna’s grin said he’d reacted enough to please her.

“At least I can compete.” Brandon replied, suddenly tired of talking. Placing a foot into a stirrup, he mounted his horse and gathered the reins. “As you so kindly pointed out.”

Lyanna backed away, her triumphant grin turning sour on her lips.

“If you’ll excuse me, my Lady.” He hid a smirk as he dipped his head and rode off towards the list field, Lancel in tow.

* * *

Lyanna had barely found her seat when the first competitors faced each other on the field. Astride their horses, both men gave her father their customary greetings and Lord Henry of House Swann declared his victory in her honor when Ser Jorrel Penrose fell.

And on it went. For nearly a half hour, countless competitors swat at each other until they fell, each winner dedicating their accomplishment to Lyanna. She would graciously smile at each one, knowing they all hoped that she would return the gesture with a favor in the next round.

Beside her, Marilla was hoping the same thing.

“Ser Connington is handsome.” She whispered as the previous victor rode from the field. He tossed his dark hair as he went, waving to the crowd. Lyanna rolled her eyes at her sister.

“Then you can grant him your favor and be won like a trophy, Mari.”

“Not Ser Connington then…what about Ellion Perle? He looks noble.”

Lyanna snorted.

“What about Lord Renly?” She said, mocking her sister’s tone. “He looks noble.” Marilla smiled, her attention drawn by Renly Lannister the moment he appeared.

“He does look very…noble.” Her voice was breathy as she watched him circle the field to where they sat, his golden armor sparkling. His light hair gleamed in the sun, curling neatly behind his ears. As he steadied his horse, his eyes found Marilla and a small smile flickered over his lips.

“If you granted your favor to Renly, he’d know how you felt.” Lyanna pointed out, smirking as Marilla blushed. Her sister hadn’t said much about her feelings for Renly Lannister, but her glances and private smiles had told Lyanna all she needed to know. She was smitten with him; and Lyanna was happy for her.

“It’s your nameday tournament, Lyanna.” Marilla whispered. “If I granted a favor in your tournament, it would be incredibly forward.”

“Good.” Lyanna scoffed softly. “Then maybe the two of you would stop gazing at each other over supper and just marry.”

“Lyanna—!“ Marilla hissed in protest, but Lyanna was focused on Renly and Ellion Perle as they rode to the opposite ends of the field. Armor was closed, helmets were replaced, and lances were passed to the riders.

Lyanna watched Marilla’s knuckles turn white as she gripped her knees, drawing and holding a breath.

Renly was the first to charge. His horse reared up on two legs before lunging forward, the animal racing along the fence while he took aim at his opponent. Lyanna hissed when the men converged with a loud crack, lances splitting into shards around them.

Renly remained upright while Ellion swayed in his saddle. Lyanna gave her sister’s knee a small pat.

“Didn’t even budge, your Renly.”

“Hush.” Marilla breathed. “If father hears you—“

“He’d be thrilled. He likes Renly.”

Renly trotted by at that very moment, returning to his squire for a new lance and a quick drink of water. Ellion Perle was heaved upright on his horse, holding his shoulder.

“Having a son-in-law like Renly would make father very happy.” Lyanna added.

“Lyanna, please.” Marilla was turning redder by the moment, no doubt thrilled at the very idea. The sisters watched as the riders took their places once more. When they charged, Marilla clutched Lyanna’s hand.

Renly dealt a devastating blow to Ellion, knocking him from his horse to the ground where he landed motionless. Marilla gasped loudly and Lyanna jumped at the great clap, the crowd letting out a collective cry. Ellion stirred and there was applause as he was helped from the ground.

“He won.” Marilla whispered excitedly. “In two passes, he won.”

“Of course he did.” Lyanna snorted. “He’s showing off for you.”

“My Lady.” Renly approached the stands and Lyanna stood, giving him a knowing smile. “I dedicate my victory to your nameday.” He said the words to Lyanna, but she knew better than to think he meant them. If this had been a harvest tournament, he would be pledging his lance to her sister. Lyanna glanced towards Marilla with intent, before meeting Renly’s eyes.

“I’m honored, my Lord.”

He returned her grin and nodded, his eyes discreetly lowering to her sister. An expression filled his face that made Lyanna’s heart flutter in her chest. Renly was in love with Marilla; it was as plain as his victory had been.

When she sat again, and the next two competitors entered the field, Lyanna let out the chuckle that had been waiting in her throat.

“He’s all yours, Mari. You could have him this moment if you wish.”

“Enough.” Marilla giggled, swatting at Lyanna’s arm. “Don’t be gross.”

“There’s nothing gross about how he looks at you.” Lyanna teased. “You deserve each other with your brooding stares.”

In that moment, another golden lion appeared before the stands, alongside his opponent. Brandon Lannister’s green eyes sparkled as he bowed to the Lord of the Stormlands and Lyanna’s smile faded when those eyes found her in the crowd. Brandon’s expression was stony but felt like a smirk behind his mocking eyes. _At least I can compete,_ he’d said, using her words against her. They exchanged a glance that lasted only a moment and then he was riding away.

“I hope he falls.” She hissed under her breath. Marilla started in her seat, frowning.

“Lyanna, don’t say that. That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“I don’t care. He’s an arrogant idiot. I hope he falls from his horse like the idiot he is.”

Marilla inhaled sharply; but before she could reply, Brandon cued his horse and he was bolting forward. Ser Rendal Tarre rushed to meet him on a grey mare, the knight’s lance leveled at Brandon’s chest plate. Lyanna squinted when they collided, but refused to grimace at the loud smash of broken lances.

Both men remained upright. Lyanna released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding when they both rode away, exchanging lances. When they charged again, she ground her teeth together to keep from shouting like the men surrounding her.

Rendal found his mark on Brandon’s shoulder, ripping him back on his saddle.

“Good.” Lyanna muttered to herself, happy to see him struggle to return to his side of the field. Marilla leveled a disapproving glare at her and Lyanna feigned boredom, lightly clapping. “It was a good hit.”

“You’re horrible.” Marilla snorted. “He could die, you know. And it would be your fault.” Lyanna groaned.

“No one has died in a joust in years. The rules are kinder than they used to be. Hit a man anywhere but torso, you lose. Hit the horse, you lose.”

“I know the rules, Lyanna.” Her sister grumbled. “But accidents happen.”

“No, they don’t.” Lyanna replied, sighing when Brandon was handed a new lance and the men took their places once again.

This time, when the men raced along the fence, Brandon thrust with his shoulder and his lance exploded into Rendal’s chest, throwing the man from his saddle to hang off the side of his horse, limp as a rag doll. Lyanna groaned and Marilla cheered, standing from her seat to applaud with the rest. 

* * *

 

Brandon’s heart was pounding in his chest when he took off his helmet and gasped for fresh air. Lancel was quick to take his broken lance and he was thankful for it. His arm was ablaze with pain, shooting down his shoulder clear to his elbow. The skin on his palm tingled and shook, numb from the violent impact with Rendal’s armor. No doubt he’d wear a large bruise for the next month. Grimacing, he righted himself in his saddle, watching as an unconscious Rendal was helped off his horse. The man roused soon enough, looking around as if he was unsure of where he was. Brandon could relate. The blow in their second pass had put stars in his eyes. He’d intended to make at least four rounds with the young knight but had decided to end the joust to ensure he would still be awake to win. Despite his loss, Rendal had been a decent opponent and had threatened Brandon enough to merit a hard strike.

Brandon waited until the man was on his feet and approached. He was steady enough, his squire fussing with his armor in an attempt to remove the heavily dented chest plate. Rendal gave Brandon a small nod.

“Well struck, my Lord.” He said respectfully, grinding his teeth as his squire managed to open the plate around his torso. The man took a deep breath of relief.

“You almost had me, Ser Rendal. I hope to have a rematch some day.” Brandon offered, dipping his head low at the knight. The young man beamed and gave him a genuine smile.

“Aye, my Lord.”

Turning his horse back towards the stands, Brandon took in the sight of the crowd. They were on their feet, clapping for his comeback victory. Everyone loved the drama of an unexpected return. Everyone, it seemed, except Lyanna Baratheon.

She stood, hands clasped at her waist when he approached, a vast contrast to that of her sister, who stood clapping at her side. Where one girl wore a bright smile, the other wore a curt, rehearsed smirk. Brandon almost laughed at the expression. The pained look didn’t fool him for a moment; in fact, he found it more fulfilling than that of the true pleasure on Marilla Baratheon’s face. Lyanna was angry underneath the tiny smile she wore, her eyes unyielding as she regarded him.

“My Lady. I dedicate my victory to your nameday.” He purred up at her, bowing his head a bit more than necessary. Lyanna was the only one standing when he looked up again, her hands clasped in a vice-like grip. She was fighting back the irritation she felt towards him; and if they had been alone, he knew she would be fearlessly lashing him with her words. He, curiously, couldn’t wait to give her the chance.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a lot of mixed messages from last chapter and it was awesome! Between my job and what little writing time I can squeeze in, I barely have the time [or energy] to proof-read, let alone answer each review thoughtfully. I apologize. But I want to thank everyone who left me their thoughts. I truly appreciate it more than I can say! Like I said, this hasn't been reread more than once, please be gentle with me ;) Thanks for reading!

Joanna Lannister slid quietly from her seat in the tournament stands and wished she were Catelyn Baratheon: one of six sisters instead of three brothers. Her two older brothers were two sides of the same coin. Both were strong and handsome, but that’s where the similarities ended.

Even as a child, Renly had been built bigger. He had been chubby one year and then muscled the next. Where his face had been once round, Renly now had high cheekbones and a square jaw. His shoulders were wide, his chest was thick and he towered over almost everyone, even their mother. Renly was like a god in Joanna’s eyes. Untouchable. Men bounced off his chest like drops of rain.

Brandon was the opposite. Unlike Renly, Brandon had been tall, awkward and skinny in his early years. When he grew, he didn’t grow larger, only stronger. He was muscled like Renly, but his strength was made for speed. Their father had always said he was built to fight with a sword; and he had been right. Brandon was a natural swordsman. He was quick, clever and ruthless. Before he’d finished growing, he’d outwitted their Master of Arms. Then he’d trained with their mother. But despite his speed and incredible skill, Brandon would never match Renly’s size.

Watching Renly joust had been difficult, but Joanna had never truly believed he could be harmed. Brandon’s joust had nearly brought her to faint. She’d held her throat in fear when he’d swayed in his saddle, recognizing a true blow when she saw it. His winning pass had been deliberately final, which had only worried her further. Her brother never cut a duel short without cause; his abrupt end to the joust had bigger implications.

Walking as quickly as she could without calling attention to herself, she hunted for her brother’s black horse in a sea of tents. When she spotted red and gold, she picked up her pace. Lancel stood outside with Brandon’s horse as she approached. Catching sight of her, he fumbled about, nearly dropping her brother’s helmet into the mud.

“My Lady—“

“Is he all right?” She pressed past the formalities instantly and the squire swallowed. Joanna didn’t hesitate like he did, brushing the tent flap aside to step inside.

Brandon had his armor removed from his chest and arms, along with his tunic. Facing away from the entrance, he was drinking greedily from a cup of water. An angry red and blue bruise had already started on his shoulder and it continued around to his chest as he turned.

“Joanna…”

“You’re hurt.” She rushed forward, hands fluttering over his arm as she inspected it. “Oh, Bran. It looks awful.”

“It’s nothing.” He murmured, giving her a weak smile. Brandon looked just like their father when he smiled and Joanna suddenly longed for Casterly Rock and her father’s kind face. “I promise, I’m fine.”

“You said you wouldn’t joust. Imagine how I felt, hearing your name among the competitors! What if you die? What if you fall off your horse and can’t ride home? What if you have to face Renly?” She spoke quickly, anxiety filling her chest like butterflies. But Brandon shook his head and reached for her, pulling her into a hug that she readily accepted.

“Hush. Breathe.” He cooed into her hair and Joanna focused on the rise and fall of her chest. In. Out. “I’m not going to die. I have a fine horse, finer armor, and I’m actually quite good at it, you know.”

“But you haven’t jousted in years. And he hit you so hard. You’re hurt.” She shot up, panic rising in her heart again. Brandon tucked her back under his chin and squeezed her closer.

“I won, didn’t I? Besides, I train for a duel daily…just not on the back of a horse. But the same basic rules apply.”

“You could beat anyone at the sword. No one has beaten you since I can remember.” Joanna muttered. “But Renly is the jousting champion.”

“He is better at it, yes.” Brandon admitted, releasing his sister to look her in the eye. “But I like reminding him whom taught whom how to ride, now and again.”

“But why?” She said in a pout, tugging away from his reach. Brandon sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s hard to explain, Joanna.”

“It’s not! Why compete when you came here with no intention to?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Brandon rubbed his palm over the rasp of a beard on his cheeks, accentuating shadows that had started to form under his eyes. He looked battered and exhausted. Groaning, he dropped onto a nearby stool.

“Because I’m an idiot.” He hissed. Joanna rolled her eyes.

“That’s not an answer.”

Brandon let out a small grunt.

“You’re lucky you’re my favorite sister.” He mumbled. Joanna cracked a small grin and stepped closer.

“I’m your only sister, idiot.” She let a small giggle escape and Brandon smirked up at her with one brow raised.

Renly stepped into the tent with an abrupt shove of the tent’s flap, his armor clanking as he walked inside. He looked untouched, not a scratch on his shining chest plate. Hair pushed back, Renly looked like he had yet to see the first round, and Joanna breathed easier.

“Ouch.” Renly hissed, taking in Brandon’s injury. “No wonder you ended Rendal so quickly.”

“I didn’t think he had it in him. Surprised the seven hells out of me.” Brandon replied.

“That’s what you get for playing with him.” Renly teased. Joanna arched a brow. “What were you aiming for, Bran. Four passes? Five?”

“Four would have been nice.” Brandon said with a small groan, cradling his arm to his body. Joanna felt her face grow hot.

“You were TRYING to go four passes?” She huffed, staring between her brothers in disbelief. “Why would you do that?!”

“Because he’s a swordsman, not a jouster.” Renly snorted. “He forgets that one bad pass can end the whole match.”

“I didn’t forget.” Brandon corrected. “I merely underestimated Rendal’s ability to aim.”

“A mistake you won’t repeat.” Joanna pressed. Renly chuckled under his breath while Brandon rolled his eyes. “Promise me, Bran.”

“Joanna—“

“He promises.” Renly said, giving Brandon a pointed stare. “Don’t you.”

The smile Brandon gave Joanna was tight; but when he met her eyes, his expression melted.

“Of course. I promise, little sister.”

* * *

 

Once Joanna was safely out of earshot, and being escorted by Lancel back to the stands, Renly gave Brandon a hard stare.

“Your shoulder is dislocated.” He growled. “Why didn’t you send Lancel for the maester?”

“Well I had to wait for you to come and yell at me.” Brandon snapped, agony filling his face for the first time since Renly had entered the tent. He was amazed Brandon had hidden his pain from Joanna as long as he had. It was easy enough to miss the unnatural position of the joint, and he’d played the role of immortal big brother well, but the pain was starting to make him pale. It wouldn’t be long before a small jostle of his arm would send him into a screaming fit.

“Let me help you.” Renly muttered. As he moved forward, Brandon stood and backed away.

“I’ll send for the maester.”

“It’ll take too long now. The second round starts soon.”

Brandon cradled his arm to his body, sweat beading on his forehead. Renly knew the pain would only increase the longer the joint went uncorrected. But he also knew the pain of correcting the injury could be tremendous. Taking a cautious step, Renly held out his hands.

“Bran. Do you want to withdraw? Or do you want me to help you?”

Brandon gave him a snide smile. “Withdraw? You’re hilarious.”

“Give me your hand.” Renly ordered, ignoring Brandon’s hiss of discomfort when he grasped his brother’s palm. Holding him by the hand and bicep, he bent Brandon’s arm at the elbow. Turning the arm slowly away from Brandon’s body, Renly watched the bone move under the skin. “Maester Drummon showed me this when I was twelve.” He murmured.

“I always wondered what you found so fascinating about that old man.” Brandon grunted, his face distorting with pain. When the arm was turned as far as it would go, Renly rotated the upper arm upwards.

“He was a smart, old man.” Renly said with a grin. Turning the forearm back towards Brandon’s body, the joint gave a small crack and the bone sunk into place. Brandon let out a long, ragged breath through his nose and Renly released him. “Maybe you could have learned a few things from him.”

“Maybe. But then why would I need you?” Brandon joked, giving him a relieved smile. Renly shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be holding a fork with that arm, let alone jousting.”

The expression of thanks on Brandon’s face evaporated to a look of exhaustion. Turning away he pulled his tunic back over his head.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m serious. If you take a bad hit, it could break your shoulder.”

“Thank you, maester.” Brandon muttered, turning back around. “I understand.”

The two men stared at each other for a long minute, the sound of the tournament filling the silence. Horses whinnied. Voices clamored on.

“Withdraw.” Renly finally whispered. “Please, Bran. Don’t upset Joanna over your pride.”

Brandon took a deep breath.

“Good luck in the second round. Best not keep Lady Lyanna waiting.” Renly ground his molars. As he turned to leave the tent, Brandon called to him. “Renly.”

He paused in the opening, keeping his back to his brother.

“Thank you.”

Renly looked over his shoulder, letting his irritation slip as Brandon held his eye. Brandon had once been a giant; an older brother Renly could only ever dream to measure up against. Now they were more equals than ever. Brandon was his brother: a huge pain in his ass but also his greatest ally and best friend. Walking back into the tent, Renly wrapped an arm around Brandon’s neck in a gentle hug.

“Don’t fucking fall.” Renly murmured into his brother’s temple. Brandon returned the embrace, clapping a hand against Renly’s armored back.

“Never.”

* * *

 

The second round began with thunderous applause. With the competitor pool cut in half, the pairs of opponents were significantly fewer, leaving the more skilled of the entrants. The passes per joust grew greater. Each point became crucial. The difference between a victory and a defeat became less dramatic with only a couple of men falling from their horses.

One of those men was Ser Connington. Lucky as he was in the first round, he was unlucky in his second round partner. Renly Lannister was an immovable force. No matter where Ser Connington aimed, or how sound the blow, Renly didn’t flinch atop his horse. And, more importantly, he returned the strikes two fold. He dealt devastating blows to his opponent, splintering his lance into several pieces on each impact. The pair went three passes before Ser Connington was knocked out of his saddle and the joust ended.

Marilla had hated every second.

Clutching her chest, she fought away the tears of relief that threatened to bloom in her eyes, the emotion prickling at the bridge of her nose. Lyanna cheered enthusiastically as Marilla clapped beside her. Despite his clear domination in jousting, it terrified Marilla to watch Renly charge towards an awaiting lance. She swore her heart stopped each time.

“He’s incredible.” Lyanna proclaimed amidst the cheering. “I’ve never seen anyone take a hit like that.”

“I can’t believe you enjoy it.” Marilla replied. “It’s terrifying.”

“That’s why it’s exciting, Mari.” Lyanna groaned. “You sound like Septa.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“She’s a boring, old hen.

“I am not a boring, old hen!” Marilla hissed, flicking Lyanna’s arm. Her sister snorted and shook her head.

“If I were Renly Lannister, I’d want a wife who cheered for me in the tournament stands, not whimpered like a child.” Lyanna arched a brow while Marilla glared at her. When her sister went to stand, Marilla shot up and clapped forcefully for Renly as he rode by.

His face lit up at the sight of her, eyes widening until she could see their beautiful pools of blue. He gave her a small nod, fixated on her as if no one else in the crowd existed.

Suddenly, Marilla became very aware that she was, in fact, the only one standing.

All eyes were on her as she slowly flushed. Lady Brienne and Lady Joanna gave her surprised smiles while her father smothered an amused laugh. The Lords and Ladies in the seats surrounding them glanced at each other in confusion while, to her horror, Marilla looked down to find Lyanna. Still very seated, Lyanna was smirking wide.

When she looked up at Renly again, Marilla wanted to vanish in a puff of smoke. But his expression said nothing of embarrassment or amusement. Renly Lannister gazed at her with such awe it made her heart leap. Never in her life had she felt so truly happy to simply be looked at by a man. Never had she sought someone’s company like she sought Renly’s at supper each night. Since his arrival at Storm’s End, Marilla had found every excuse to be near him. And as she stood foolishly alone in a crowd of spectators, lost in his endless eyes, she knew why.

She was falling in love with Renly Lannister.

“My Lord.” She found her voice and forced a calm smile to her lips. “My sister and I are truly inspired by your bravery.” Marilla folded her hands at her waist. “We wish you good luck in the next round.”

“You honor me, my Lady.” He replied with a warm voice, dipping his head without taking his eyes from her.

Marilla sat as he rode away and Lyanna gave her a devilish smile. When the attention had comfortably shifted away, Marilla allowed herself to cringe.

“I hate you.” She grumbled, wishing away the heat that filled her cheeks. Lyanna laughed and pat Marilla’s leg, leaning in close to whisper in her ear.

“Think of it this way. Everyone was going to find out about the two of you sooner or later, when you became Lady Lannister.”

“Oh, Lyanna.”

“Now father won’t be so surprised when Renly begs to take you back to Casterly Rock.”

Marilla couldn’t help but let a laugh burst from her mouth. She slapped a palm over it and Lyanna chuckled beside her.

Two riders entered the field and Marilla watched as Lyanna’s expression sobered. As Brandon Lannister passed, her sister feigned boredom and glanced down the stands to his opponent. The second rider was no one in particular but she pretended to take great interest in him while Brandon drew near.

This time, it was Marilla who arched a brow.

“Lyanna, what has he done?” She asked with a sigh, watching as Brandon’s squire handed him a helmet. Even she had to admire his handsome face as he ran a hand through his hair before sliding his helmet into place; and she noticed many of the other ladies gazing at him as well.

Lyanna was more interested in picking under her nails.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She muttered. Marilla grabbed her sister’s hands to still them.

“How have you imagined he’s slighted you?”

“Imagined?” Lyanna scoffed, tugging her hands away. “I don’t imagine anything.”

“You imagine quite a bit.” Marilla chuckled. “And gods forgive any one who dares get under your skin. You pay them back with interest.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Her sister grumped. “I just don’t like him. That’s all.”

“You put a fork through Teddy Swann’s hand when he stood on your foot during a dance.”

“He did it on purpose. And I was ten.”

“What about when you put horse shit in Ser Gawyn’s boots?”

“He called me an ugly mare.” Lyanna grinned. “I’m still not sorry for that one.”

“Whatever you imagine Brandon Lannister has done to injure you… please, don’t do something childish.” Marilla watched as her sister rolled her eyes.

“He’s safe from having his shoes filled, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” The two exchanged a stare and Lyanna sighed.

“He’s just so …arrogant.”

“If I recall, darling sister, you all but called him a coward within hours of his arrival.” Marilla watched Lyanna color with irritation.

“He acted as though a tournament was beneath him.”

“He favors the sword, is what he said.” Marilla nearly laughed. “And clearly it’s not beneath him…” She motioned with her eyes as Brandon took hold of his lance and shield, moving to the end of the field.

“I shamed him into entering and everyone knows it.” Lyanna said with a triumphant smirk. “Otherwise, his smug ass would be sitting right next to his mother.”

Marilla looked out across the field as Brandon and his opponent charged. The beat of hooves on dirt pounded with her heart as the animals ran hard along the fence. When the riders met with a loud crash and both rode away unscathed, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“If I’m to believe you…” Marilla caught Lyanna’s eye and lowered her voice. “…I may be his sister by law one day. And then the two of you would be family.”

Lyanna sighed and watched Brandon toss a shattered lance to the ground, taking a new one from his squire.

“If you could, at least, try and get along.” Marilla muttered, almost to herself.

“He talks to me like I’m a spoiled brat.” Lyanna replied. “I won’t be spoken down to by someone who hardly knows me.”

“You challenged his pride before he’d spent a night in our home.” Marilla reminded her. “I would have thought you a spoiled brat after that performance.” Lyanna flexed her jaw and Marilla fought back a victorious laugh, clasping her hands in her lap as the riders moved for another pass.

This time, when lances shattered, Brandon’s opponent was twisted around in his saddle, clutching at his reigns while he tumbled to the ground. The crowd let out a loud roar and Marilla shot to her feet with many others.

“Two passes!” She cried out, looking down at her sitting sister. After a moment, Lyanna slowly rose and gave a few small claps. She opened her mouth to, no doubt, give a curt reply but a happy cry drew both of their gazes. Joanna Lannister cheered from the stands, beaming as her brother trotted back. Marilla watched the girl clap and found she was smiling along with her.

Joanna was a tall, young woman with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. Marilla saw more of Renly than Brandon in Joanna’s face; but their matching smiles gave them away as family. It made Marilla wonder how her life would have been different with an older brother. Catching a glimpse of her father in the stands, Marilla imagined a younger version of his face. She imagined being teased, as she was by Lyanna, by a brother who had her father’s eyes. In the few seconds she dreamt of it, Marilla suddenly understood the admiration on Joanna’s face.

Brandon was her champion.

When he reached the stands, Brandon led his horse along the railing, the animal huffing from the previous sprint. He petted the mare’s neck absent-mindedly, breathing just as heavily as his horse.

“My Lady.” He addressed Lyanna with a nod but continued by, stopping only when he’d arrived in front of Joanna in the crowd. “My victory belongs to you, little sister.” Brandon gave a shallow nod and Joanna curtsied with a silly grin on her face. With another low dip of his head, Brandon acknowledged his mother, who wore an expression of pride that only a mother could wear. When he bent his head to Marilla’s father, the stands broke out in more applause.

Lyanna watched Brandon ride away with an odd expression on her face.

“Arrogant.” Marilla said simply. “Very rude. Terrible.”

“Shut up.” Lyanna grumbled. “Anyone with a sniff of manners and a handsome face has your approval.”

“You’re right.” Marilla murmured, hiding a grin. Lyanna shot a confused frown over her shoulder. “He is handsome.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of have an idea of where I'm going with this, but be patient with me, I'm a slow writer. Thanks for reading!


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